


It Tortures Me Inside

by POPP_Writing_Group



Series: This Was My Home [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Backstory, Battle, But he won't admit it, Cybertronian Medicine, Death, Deception, Doctors & Physicians, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt, Medical Procedures, Medical Trauma, Military Backstory, My poor babies, Near Death Experiences, Optimus Prime - Freeform, Optimus Prime being himself, Poor Everyone, Pre-Transformers Prime, Pre-Tyger Pax, Ratchet being a doctor, Ratchet being awesome, Ratchet is traumatized, Seriously a lot of dying, The mindset Ratchet was in before he had to save Bumblebee, This is war after all, Trauma, War, Wow, ratchet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-22
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/POPP_Writing_Group/pseuds/POPP_Writing_Group
Summary: "In time, warfare consumed Cybertron. . . poisoning the planet to its core."





	It Tortures Me Inside

**Author's Note:**

> Written by: Kayla

Fighting.  It was really just healing in reverse, wasn’t it?  And Ratchet had been a doctor long enough that he could do what he had learned backwards.  Under that reasoning. . .

He thrust one of his blades into the spark of a lunging ‘Con-- blocking out the memory of the seven essential steps to repair a stab wound-- and shouted, “Get the criticals out!  Keep the Energon drips going!”

The three young Autobots who had been chosen to assist him leapt forward to obey, two of them transforming their left hands and firing off bolts at the ‘Cons Ratchet was trying to hold off.  The patients who were aware enough to understand that the infirmary was under attack began to moan and shout as they saw other patients being wheeled out to the escape ship.  The room dissolved into chaos around Ratchet, but he turned his extra senses off as well as he could and went into his head.  Standing his ground at the door as more and more Decepticons burst through, he dispatched each that came his way with cold precision.

_ Blade to the side of the head.  Cognitives ruptured.  Unconsciousness immediate.  Unless treated, death is probable. _

He shook his head, ignoring the sparking wires and the instructions that flitted through his mind on how he could repair them, and moved on to the next ‘Con.

_ Kick to abdomen.  Bludgeon to back of head.  Stab to side. _

_ Repeat. _

“Are the criticals evacuated?” he bellowed during a pause.  He could feel lubricant leaking down the side of his head.

“Yes, doctor!” a frightened voice shouted over the panicked clamor of the other patients.  “Permission to begin loading the other wounded?”

Ratchet never got to give permission, his attention diverted to three Decepticons that had begun blasting through the door.  He transformed his hands back into blades and stabbed one--

\-- _ In the event of a stabbing, there are seven essential rules-- _

\-- stabbed one and threw him into the other--

\-- _ rules that will, if followed, be instrumental in saving the victim’s life-- _

\--they both crumpled, the dead one atop the living.  Ratchet kicked that one into unconsciousness and turned on the last--

\-- _ Determine which, if any, wires have been severed-- _

\--leapt onto him, both blades thrusting down on either side of his head--

\-- _ Determine if the victim requires an Energon transplant-- _

\--shoved him through the door with a savage yell--

\-- _ Determine if welding is required to salvage any major punctures-- _

\--landed atop him, the light in the ‘Con’s eyes now gone--

_ \-- Determine how the victim responds to light-- _

\--yanked his blades out, spattered and glowing with Energon--

\-- _ Determine what tools are necessary-- _

\--stepped off the dead ‘Con, stepped off and backed away--

_ \-- Determine if the victim seems aware of themselves-- _

\--looked up and saw the army coming his way, the sea of purple and black--

\-- _ And most importantly, determine whether or not the spark is still active.  For if the spark is gone, there will be no way to revive the patient. _

Ratchet tried to back up, tried to get to the infirmary before the Decepticons, before the army of death.  But they were upon him in an instant, and he was buffeted with blasts of energy that drove him to his knees.  One of the ‘Cons hit him with a savage blow that he knew immediately would send him into darkness.  As his head hit the ground, the last thing he saw was hundreds of figures storming into the infirmary, and the last sound he heard screams of terror.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

When he awoke, he heard the sound of crackling fire.

Groaning, he struggled to lift himself to his knees.  His armor was splattered with Energon.  What had happened?  Had he had to perform a difficult surgery?  But no. . . he had put off that T-Cog transplant until he could get the patient to a safer area.  . . why had the infirmary not been safe?

Ratchet remembered.

Gasping, staggering on shaky legs, he rushed to where the infirmary should be.

Where the infirmary had been.

“No,” he said faintly.

The patients were dead.  Every one of them.

Ratchet took a step inside.

There was the femme who had come in with a dislocated wing, shouting that her injury was not severe enough to warrant medical attention, that she was only here on the strict orders of her commander, and that they would be better off simply giving her leave to return to the war.

There was the old bot who had taken a blade through the neck.  Ratchet had worked for three hours straight to stabilize his condition.

There was the young warrior who had been blinded by a Decepticon trap.

There was the scout who had been attacked by Scraplets.

There was the Wrecker who had had his leg blown off.

All dead.

All  _ murdered. _

_ The escape ship,  _ Ratchet remembered dimly, as if someone a thousand miles away had thrown the thought randomly into his head.  With some semblance of hope beginning to creep into his spark, he turned.  Immediately, he saw where the sounds of fire had been coming from.

“No,” he moaned.  “No, no. . .”

He stood there for a long time, so long that the noises that came from behind him, the sounds of clanking and thudding that could only indicate a steadily approaching battalion, went on for long enough that he could have gotten away easily.  But Ratchet could not tear his optics away from the burning escape ship.  If more Decepticons were coming, let them finish him off.   _ What difference would one medic make, _ he wondered faintly.  What difference, among this slaughter?

More clanking.  Someone was walking up behind him, alone.  He calculated the weight of the steps to the pacing ratio in his head-- distractedly-- and determined that it must be a big bot that had been sent to kill him.  Well, he would go.  He had failed the bots he was supposed to protect.  He would not argue against his own passing.

“Ratchet,” the bot said.

Ratchet stiffened. 

He knew the voice that had spoken his name.  It was enough to break him out of the apathy and give him a reason to speak.

He turned on the Prime.  “Look at them,” he spat.  “Look what has happened.”  Avoiding Optimus’ eyes, he gestured savagely at the carnage.  “They were wounded, Optimus.  Helpless.  And those monsters. . . they mowed them down without mercy.”  He turned back to the Prime and finally looked at him.  “What kind of war are we fighting?”

“One we cannot afford to lose, old friend,” Optimus said gently.

Ratchet laughed bitterly, a harsh bark of a sound.  He looked away from the Prime.   _ “I  _ have lost, Optimus.  I failed these bots.  I could not heal them. . . and I could not protect them.”

“Ratchet,” Optimus said, “you could not have been expected to defend against so great a force on your own.  You are fortunate to still have your spark.”

“Yes, but I should not!” Ratchet hissed.  “Why am I alive when so many are dead?  You have lost  _ warriors  _ today, Optimus.  What good does it do you to still have me?’

There was silence for a long moment. 

“It does a great deal of good,” Optimus said quietly.

Ratchet turned back to him, and for an instant saw Orion Pax instead of Optimus Prime.  Then Optimus blinked, and Orion was gone, and the commander of the Autobots stood before Ratchet again.  

“We are going to Tyger Pax,” he said abruptly.  “There exists a possibility that one of the Decepticon bases may be located there.  Ratchet,” he added, as the medic looked away, “I will not order you to come.  You are given permission to leave Cybertron with the other refugees.”

Ratchet looked up.  The Prime hesitated, and then continued.

“I do not order you to come.  But. . . I will ask it of you, Ratchet.  We will need you.  There are few doctors left, and I know of only one who has not turned to the Decepticons.”

Ratchet sighed.

He could leave Cybertron.

He could abandon this nightmare.

He could abandon Optimus, abandon the Prime and the Autobots and this losing cause.  

“Will you come, old friend?” Optimus asked.

“Optimus,” Ratchet said wearily, “do you  _ really  _ believe I will do any good?”

“I know it,” Optimus said.  

“Even if I fail again?”

“You did not fail.”

Ratchet was silent.  

“Even if you only save one life there, Ratchet, it will be worth coming.”  Optimus hesitated again, looking down and then back at Ratchet.  “Please,” he said quietly.

Ratchet laughed again, suddenly, and Optimus looked startled and confused.

“I could never abandon you, Optimus,” he said, shaking his head.  He felt as if the weight of the all the deaths were resting more comfortably on his shoulders.  He wasn’t sure if he preferred it this way or not-- with the guilt not so crushing, it would be harder to convince himself he could get rid of it.  “I need a redemption.  If I can save a life, even one. . .” he paused and looked out again at the wrecked bodies.  “If I can do some good. . . Yes.  I will go with you to Tyger Pax.”

 


End file.
